the river child
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: Slytherins stand up for their own. Always. -set between books six and seven; mentions of abuse- "Please forgive me, Lord Malfoy. The boy will clean this up immediately, won't you, Theodore?"


**Title: the river child**

**Rating: T**  
**Spoilers: G**eneral

**Characters**: Theodore Nott

**Summary: Slytherins stand up for their own. Always. Story takes place between books six and seven. Mentions of abuse.**

**Disclaimer: **disclaimed

**Author: **_Lady Avaritia_

**Please consider this one-shot my head-cannon for the home-lives of almost mentioned characters. If you feel disturbed or offended by the discussed subject of child abuse, then I advise you not to read. Otherwose, feel free to continue forth. I hope you leave a review at the end.**

**Oh, and also, Cruciator translated from Latin, means torturer.**

Theodore Nott is afraid. He is afraid of all the people around him. The people around him are death eaters. He is a death eater too. But he is afraid of them none the less.

There are probably two people in the Malfoy Manor living room who don't scare him – Draco and Blaise. Pansy isn't there tonight – she's on an assignment from the Dark Lord with a bunch of lower-ranking servants of their Master.

The Dark Lord isn't there as well, for which Theo is endlessly grateful. He is terrified beyond belief of the pale monster, and he knows that the other man knows it, and delights in it.

Right now Draco and Blaise have deserted him.

Blaise is making friendly with the Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan –please-call-us-Rod-and-Rab. According to both his and Draco's decapitations they're two of the most reasonable and cool adults they've ever met. None the less Theo is afraid of them. They are Death Eaters. And Death Eaters hurt others. Death Eaters hurt him.

Rabastan Lestrange says something that makes Blaise laugh and shake the hair out of his dark eyes, then send Theo a look and a friendly smile as in, _come over_. Theo shakes his head politely, _no, I'm fine_.

He scans the room for Draco. Draco is sanding by the lush green armchair where his father is sat, and his mother and aunt are talking. Theo gulps and shudders. He knows it, he just knows it. His father is in the room. He wants to get out, needs to get out, _get out NOW!_

Too late.

'Theodore,' his father drawls coldly. 'A word with you outside, if I may?'

Theo's molten chocolate eyes widen just a notch. He looks helplessly around. The mingling Death Eaters are all completely oblivious to the boy in terror. He meets Greyback's eye for a second, but the werewolf's here as bodyguard, meant to ensure that no harm comes to the Malfoys and Lestranges, to whom his pack owes loyalty. Blaise and Draco's uncles have retreated on the balcony to smoke. Draco is explaining something to his Aunt Bella, who is listening, and then, with over exaggerated hand gestures, correcting him, while he nods, and looks like wants to take out some parchment and take notes, the Dark Arts nerd that he is.

Theo gulps.

'Yes, father,' he says tersely.

Once out of the dimly lit room, and in the cold hallway, the inevitable happens.

The backhand sends Theo sprawling on the floor, and he tastes blood in his mouth.

'You are a disappointment, Theodore. You fail me as a son, and you disgrace our family name.'

'I am sorry father,' he says quietly, apologizing for whatever rule of his pureblood upbringing he has managed to break.

'Your very presence… makes the bile rise in my throat.'

He attempts to get up, but receives a kick to the ribs instead.

'Do not snivel, boy. Face your punishment like a man. Pathetic creature.'

'Yes father.' He tries to steel his voice, but it comes out shaky with pain, and the punishment for that is an unidentified curse of some sort hitting him in chest and sending him into a wall.

He hacks up blood.

'Look at yourself. You are so disgusting. Just look at what a mess you made on Lord Malfoy's rugs. Make sure to clean that up, when I am done with you.'

'Yes, father,' he chokes, just as another spell hits him.

~x~

Blaise enters the Malfoy living room after he's had his after-dinner cigarette with the Lestrange brothers on the expansive marble balcony overlooking the green gardens. He thinks that if he ever had a permanent father, he wouldn't mind it being either one of them, though that's just wishful thinking.

Rodolphus is serious, kind of lamenting. Blaise is left with the impression that Azkaban has hit him harder than his brother. Rabastan, on the other hand, is a lot more laid-back. Calm, careless. And a lot more dangerous, in Blaise's humble opinion.

'Hey,' he says turning towards him, 'Where's Theo?'

'Who? The thin mousy boy?' asks Rod.

'Yeah. He was there like, five minutes ago…'

Rabastan shrugs.

'Suppose he got home?'

'No. He wouldn't leave till his father does,' Blaise says, full of conviction. He's got a terrible suspicion rising up in his gut.

'Come think of it,' Rodolphus muses, 'I don't see old Nott anywhere around either.'

'Could we, perhaps, ask Draco?' Blaise asks. The anxiety rises in his voice. He planned to get Mr. Nott Senior's permission to let Theo stay with Draco for the summer under pretenses of pureblood prestige and whatnot.

'Sure, you go on ahead. I'll ask around the security,' Rabastan suggests. He's got a bad feeling about this. Draco's close friends with those two, and that other dark girl, much closer than with the Crabbe and Goyle offsprings, to his utmost relief. And something about the Italian's anxiety unsettles him.

~x~

'Lord and Lady Malfoy. Lady Lestrange,' Blaise greets politely.

'Blaise,' Lucius nods benignly. Bellatrix gives him a look with a raised eyebrow as in, _what do you want, scum_? And Narcissa Malfoy smiles tiredly.

'Hey, Dray, I just wanted to ask you… have you seen Theo? He was there before I went out for a smoke, but he's not here now, and I couldn't see his old man either.'

The boys lock eyes. _Oh, this is bad_. Draco knows. Blaise knows. Pansy knows too, but she's not here.

'Perhaps he left,' Lucius says carefully. He knows his son too well, and he notices the way tension had suddenly lined his slender body and made his ice blue eyes go hard.

'But Father,' Draco says. He is fake-whining. Lucius hates it when he does that, because it means he's lying, and using the prissy-prince act to throw him off. Oh, two can play this game.

'But Father,' Draco continues, 'I wanted to have a talk with Mr. Nott and ask if Theo could stay over for summer. He's great with transfiguration, and McGonagall dumped this load on us… I figured you wouldn't mind, he is after all, one of us…'

Lucius nods, and tries to read between the lines. He catches Bella's eye as in, _do you know what's going on? _And she shakes her head, _no, and neither do I care_, and stalks off with barely a word of goodbye.

Rabastan and Rodolphus approach, with Greyback's impressive form towering behind them.

'The Slytherin boy with the brown hair? Yeah, I saw him. His father left with him. Right before that, he looked scared. Like a deer. I could smell his fear from across the room,' the werewolf was explaining.

'Afraid?' Rabastan raised an eyebrow.

'Terrified, the whole deal – wide eyes, racing pulse, sweating, ragged breathing. I caught his eyes for a second, but he turned away.'

Rodolphus nods. It's clear, in his mind. He knows.

He eyes Rabastan carefully. His younger brother has pulled his wand discreetly, gripping it tightly. Lucius has heard, and his eyes have gone stone cold.

Narcissa understands, and excuses herself.

~x~

_There was a time, where she didn't know such things existed outside Daily Prophet articles. She couldn't imagine why a parent would do that to their child. That was before she met Lucius, who was prim and proper bred, and learned that his father r liked employing alternative methods of discipline, which included a lot more of the stick and a lot less of the carrots. Then there was Lucius' friends Rabastan and Rod. Rab had been a small boy, in their school years, slender and insecure, always a step behind, hiding in his big brother's shadow. Lucius had told her. It made so much sense of why Rod was so overprotective of his little brother, afterwards. _

_And she was horrified. Horrified by it all. It occurred to her, then, that she had lucked out in parents. It occurred to her that not all pureblood ways were the right ways. Especially not when they employed muggle violence._

_She wondered for how long must have Draco known. For how long must he have kept the agonizing secret which wasn't his to share. She wondered if Severus knew, but was unable to do anything, his power as a teacher crippled by his position as a spy. _

_She needed fresh air._

~x~

'You… foul… disrespectful… creature…dare you…defy…me? Apologize. NOW.' Each word was accompanied by a heavy blow.

'Forgive me father, I am so sorry father, please, I didn't mean to, father…'

'Sir Nott? I believe this is quite enough. You are getting blood all over my carpets.'

The man turns around to face the lazy drawls of Lucius Malfoy. He has leaned on a wall, his elegant hand resting on the top of his cane. There's a serpentine smile on his lips, and his eyes are arctic.

'Please forgive me, Lord Malfoy. The boy will clean this up immediately, won't you, _Theodore_?' he sneers the name.

'I believe that this will be unnecessary, Sir Nott. That's what house elves are for no?' the pleasant purring accent of Rabastan Lestrange joins in. He saunters with his brother. He is aimlessly playing with his wand, sending small green sparkles in the air and amusing himself by watching them dissipate. Nobody can quite pull off a careless and dangerous look like a Lestrange can. Rodolphus just pretends he's immensely interested in a portrait of some Malfoy ancestor on the wall.

'It will be a useful life lesson, though,' the man argues, 'you can never go too far with disciplining one's child.'

'I'm afraid you're wrong, Sir Nott,' Draco says quietly. His silver eyes are a reflection of his father's – cold and empty.

'Do not interrupt the adults, you impudent – '

'You seem to forget, Nott,' Lucius says dangerously, his wand drawn in an instant, 'that this is my home. And this is my son.'

'Surely, Lucius, you realize the need of certain methods being employed to…' he slowly trails off when Blaise Zabini joins the small group blocking his only exit. He nods in his direction, and moves towards the injured Theodore.

_How dare he? _Times and times again Nott had forbidden his son from socializing with the Italian disgrace, and now he was allowing himself to be helped by him?_ Notts required no assistance. Oh, the boy would pay dearly for that._

'I am afraid, 'Lucius says icily, and grips his wand a little tighter, 'that I do not. You will excuse me, of course, if I, in my ignorance, am incapable of understanding how by instilling fear and pain in your child, you strengthen them. I believe, and am sure you wouldn't argue, that y own son turned into quite the fine young man, if I dare say so myself.'

Draco smirks coldly, humorlessly.

Nott Sr. takes the provocation.

'With all due respect Lucius, but surely, you realize that your son has become a spoilt, selfish, impudent child who has no regard for his elders, and has become famous through his school with his numerous conquests of,' he pauses scandalized, 'both genders.'

'I am quite well aware of that, Nott,' Lucius says pleasantly. 'I wouldn't have him any other way, I assure you.'

'Lucius, my friend. Nott,' Rodolphus says, 'I cannot help but feel that we digressed. Were we not discussing the dangers one might encounter alone in a dark hallway?'

'Pardon?'

'Falling down the stairs, for example,' Blaise says serenely.

'Bumping into doors,' Rabastan supplies helpfully.

'Having an unexpected stroke,' Blaise continues.

Nott feels very, very cornered, all of a sudden. The three men in front of him were widely famed as extraordinary duelists.

'Do you know what really bothers me, Nott?' Rod asks. 'That you say all these things about upbringing, and discipline, and you don't mean a single word. You're just plainly, a pathetic sadistic little man.'

'It would take one to know one, Rodolphus _Cruciator_,' Nott spits bravely.

'Oh, no,' Rabastan says, 'we're not talking about him or me here. We're bad to the bone, but see, we're very open about it. And we choose opponent our own size and age… mostly. But you… you disgust me.'

'A child, really, Nott? I thought you knew better than that. _You came into my house, you disrespected my hospitality, you insulted me, you insulted my son, you insulted my brothers-in-law. You… repel… me_.'

'Draco, Blaise,' Rodolphus says pleasantly, 'please escort your friend outside, and get your mother to have a look at him. We adults, need to talk.'

'But uncle, I want to…'

'_Out_, Draco,' Lucius says levelly. 'Your mother will not approve of you seeing that.'

'My mother wouldn't mind,' Blaise offers hopefully.

'I'll repeat,' Rab sighs exasperatedly, 'everyone not old enough to buy porn, alcohol and cigarettes alone, leave the room.'

'Oh, come on, Rab,' Nott says nervously, his watery eyes darting around nervously, 'you don't mean it, do you? All children leave the room… ha-ha…' he laughs weakly.

'I'm afraid I am quite serious. Rabastan and Rodolphus Cruciators, remember? We have a very serious no-child-witnesses policy, when it comes right down to it.'

'And Draco,' Lucius calls.

'Yes, Father?'

'Please tell Greyback to be here in the next _forty to sixty_ minutes.'

'With a shovel,' Rab calls playfully, his eyes flashing. Nott Sr. blanches and trembles. His wand slips out of his sweaty palm. The Slytherin Princes of so many years ago down on him like vultures on flesh.

'Yes, father,' Draco drawls, his eyes lit up darkly.

The doors which cut off the end of the small entrée from the general hallways slam shut, and Draco and Blaise mutter sealing incarnations, just in case.

'Your uncle Rab's a laugh,' Blaise says conversationally, as the two help Theodore walk towards Narcissa's quarters.

'Oh, he's the best. You haven't seen him in his element yet,' Draco mutters. 'Rabastan Cruciator. I would give anything to see that.'

'Perhaps in a few years?' Blaise offers.

~x~

The room if full of Death Eaters. Theo isn't as scared any more. The presence of Draco's father does not frighten him anymore. The blonde man catches his eye and smiles. Theo smiles right back, albeit insecurely.

His eyes don't dart around the room anymore. The shadow of his father does not loom over him.

Rumor had it that Mr. Nott Senior had been quite ill for a long time now, and had a stroke at a dinner party.

Gleefully, Rabastan notes that the optimal amount of time to turn someone into a full-fledged vegetable if between _two and three hours_, which is not to say that _fifty to sixty minutes_ are not enough time to inflict serious damage.

_Slytherins will stand up for their own. Always._


End file.
